


Chapter 21 1/2 of AYLNO:  Interregnum

by aspeninthesunlight



Series: Side Stories for A Year Like None Other [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: AYLNO Side Story, Gen, Severus Snape - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-03-23
Updated: 2006-03-23
Packaged: 2021-02-23 07:13:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,277
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23274274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aspeninthesunlight/pseuds/aspeninthesunlight
Summary: This Side Story to AYLNO, another entry written by Rebecca, takes place during the events of Chapters 21-26 of A Year Like None Other. This was one of the entries to a challenge posted for AYLNO readers to pick an event in AYLNO and tell it from Severus' point of view.
Series: Side Stories for A Year Like None Other [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1672093
Comments: 1
Kudos: 24





	Chapter 21 1/2 of AYLNO:  Interregnum

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [A Year Like None Other](https://archiveofourown.org/works/742072) by [aspeninthesunlight](https://archiveofourown.org/users/aspeninthesunlight/pseuds/aspeninthesunlight). 



Chapter 21 ½: 

Interregnum

By: Rebecca Lee 

Severus navigated the last twisting turn of the stairway and emerged quietly into the cool shadows of his dungeons. His hands reached across his chest and yanked irritably at the front of his robe, pulling the garment tightly about his shoulders with an audible snap. He would have rather enjoyed catching an errant Gryffindor or two out of bed during his rounds tonight, but unfortunately for him, the corridor had been remarkably clear of miscreant students. Just as well, Severus thought, for sometime between Grimmauld Place and Hogwarts earlier in the evening, he had felt his head inexplicably grow ten stone heavier. In his present temper, he was certain that he would have doled out some rather spectacular punishments and have been forced to explain them later to the headmaster. 

A faint exhalation of breath, not quite a sigh, blew over his teeth, as Severus perused the ground bleakly with uncharacteristic disregard for his surroundings. He focused on the rhythmic, metallic clicking of his boots against the cobbled castle floor and studiously reviewed his lesson plans for the next day: blood replenishing potion with the seventh years, calming draughts with the first years, memory restorative potion with the fifth years. 

Yet…Potter. Harry. The Potions Master heard himself growl slightly. Stupid, stupid child. The idiocy clogging that Gryffindor skull would one day prove to be Severus’ own undoing. He didn’t know precisely what to think about the boy. Albus was hell-bent on finding “someone the boy may trust” and had thrust the child upon him like an ill-fitting glove. And leave it to the boy to actually latch onto him and give him his bloody trust. Friends. Was that how Harry had phrased it? 

Severus’ eyes glinted sardonically. Well, he had shown the boy just how much he could trust him, didn’t he? Harry, determined to prove once and for all that he was a grown man at the advanced age of sixteen, had taken Severus up on the challenge to observe one of the Dark Lord’s meetings through a Pensieve. To judge for himself how veritably trustworthy a Death Eater Severus was. What Harry didn’t know was that the meeting on Halloween had been a mere sampling. That gathering had actually painted him in a flattering light, making him appear a conniving spy who had wormed his way out of participating in the Dark Lord’s barbarous atrocities. He had not shown Harry the…other side. Surely, the boy understood that being the Dark Lord’s Potions Master entailed more than producing Pepper-up Potion and Polyjuice. But what would happen to young Mr. Potter’s trust, Severus wondered, if the boy could even begin to imagine the vile substances that he created for Voldemort while in his service? If he could watch his professor administer his newest invention, Crucio Stasis, to a sobbing, naked, Muggle girl and witness her scream and thrash in agony until she finally expired from pain? 

As he let himself into his chambers, Severus thought back to Harry’s ceaseless pestering. He needed to know, Severus recalled contemptuously. Slapping his hand against his wards rather harder than necessary, he felt the tendrils of rage start to lick their way up his spine again and into his pounding head. Of course the idiot child had whined relentlessly and had forced Severus to elucidate every grisly detail. Though he detested having his memories extracted on a regular basis and analyzed by the likes of Albus, Minerva, and the werewolf, some morbid twist of fate would have him participating in the Dark Lord’s carnage for that exclusive purpose. And then Harry, in a fit of infantile curiosity, insisted upon doing the same. A whole lot of good knowing has done for the boy, Severus thought viciously.

But then he remembered the conversation that had come to pass between them this very evening. He had botched Lupin’s Potion and had returned to Grimmauld Place three days after goading Harry into the Pensieve. The boy had been contrite over their quarrel and was on edge because his own uncle had threatened to turn him over to the Dark Lord. He and Harry had then had a particularly exhausting Occlumency session, and by the end of the lesson, the boy was sprawled on the sofa, pale and shaking, drained from the effort. But instead of resting, Harry had tried to make Severus look at his memories through the Pensieve. 

Severus’ hand froze on its way to the cloak hook, the thick, heavy robe still hanging limply from his fingertips. He thought of the boy’s pleading eyes, entreating him to accept his apology. The catch in Harry’s voice…suddenly feeling himself not quite soften, but almost deflate in exhaustion, as Harry stumbled ineloquently over his words. Did trust truly matter that much to the boy? Why couldn’t Harry simply trust him without stripping away his privacy? Ah, but the boy was a Gryffindor, wasn’t he? He wanted the truth. Didn’t he know that this truth, this reality, could never amount to anything good? That Severus wished to shield him from the monster that the Dark Lord had created in him? Shaking his head, Severus replaced his cloak and headed for his bedchamber. He paused by his potions lab and was fleetingly reminded that Lupin’s Potion still needed to be made. Running one hand by his temple, he decided that the werewolf would just have to wait for tomorrow, when he had rested, and his head had ceased to smart. His irritation with Potter combined with the magical strain of sustained Legilimency had taken its toll.

Severus made do with the barest minimum of preparations for the night before sinking heavily into his bed. Reaching into his nightstand drawer, he withdrew a vial of Truthful Dreams and quickly downed the viscous, black potion as he did every night, barely noticing the sting of the acrid loosestrife against his palate. Already feeling drowsy, he suddenly came to the bleary realization that the boy had looked almost…forlorn when he had left tonight. Too tired to think more upon it, he gladly allowed himself to be swallowed by the yawning oblivion that stretched towards him, though not before an absurd voice whispered that he had been overly harsh…

A motley collection of disorganized memories filled Severus’ dreams that night before his subconscious finally settled upon hovering uneasily over the last Death Eater meeting, the one he had attended four nights ago, on Halloween.

He was in the field again. The raid had just ended, and evidence of massacre and devastation was still fresh, with dead bodies littered everywhere and smoldering spell residues that were just beginning to disperse. The pungent, coppery odor of human blood rose from the moist earth, clinging to his nostrils and permeating the cool, night air. 

“Samhain draws near, my loyal Death Eaters. Six nights hence, we shall all celebrate together. You will each be rewarded, according to your rank and the distinction of your service, when we have the sacrificcccce.” 

The Dark Lord’s silken tones glided over the last word in a prolonged hiss. In the dream, he felt the Dark Lord’s feral gaze alight upon his own crouched form. “Severus.”

“My Lord.”

“You will bring us our Potion.”

“Yes, my Lord, I would be most honored,” Severus heard himself answer. 

He waited for the onslaught of Legilimency that he knew would come next, as the Dark Lord assaulted his mind in search of the slightest hint of disloyalty. It had become a most charming tradition that he and the Dark Lord indulged in at every meeting…But instead, the scene abruptly froze, and Severus’ dream self looked up in faint surprise. The Dark Lord stood tall and still, his hand extended toward him in a twisted gesture of benevolence. His fellow Death Eaters knelt submissively in a tight circle, and silver moonlight splashed all around them in the open clearing, bouncing iridescently off each of their stark white masks. 

As he slowly arose off the ground, Severus’ eyes were drawn against their volition to the glowing red slits that were the Dark Lord’s eyes. What he found there was so staggering that for a few glacial seconds, he was robbed of breath. Captured and etched in his memory forever was the picture of a bestial hunger, of an utter and ravenous greed unlike any Severus had seen in the Dark Lord before. It glittered in Voldemort’s malevolent gaze and cut through him, a slice of quicksilver, chilling him ominously, even in his dream.

As soon as Severus jerked away from the fiendish stare, the world began to fold in upon itself, as the trees, the sky, the meadow, and all the Dark Lord’s minions receded into nothing. And as he emerged from his own dreamscape, he had but one thought on his stunned mind—the sacrifice…the Potion…Enemy’s Bane. Realization plowed over him like so many herds of rampaging hippogriffs. 

Severus jackknifed up from his bed, his blood roaring in raging torrents through his ears. It was Harry. The Dark Lord wanted Harry. An unpleasant feeling that might have been shock or panic slid along his gut before he made an effort to repress it. 

His hand lashed out in the darkness to grab his wand, and breathlessly, he incanted Lumos while making his way toward the Floo. The unnaturally bright wand light bleached the dim room eerily, and Severus was reminded that it was the middle of the night. Still, he threw Incendio at the fireplace to start the flames and then tossed in a handful of powder, shouting “Dumbledore’s office!”

A few moments passed, during which Severus stood impatiently by his hearth, the fingers of one hand tapping restlessly against his other arm. Finally, Albus’s bearded face appeared in the flames, his blue eyes bearing the faintest hint of question. 

“Severus? Is everything all right?”

“It is not as we thought, Albus. The Dark Lord’s plans for Samhain involve more than ritual torture of Muggles and half-bloods…” Severus suddenly felt as if he had swallowed a whole box of cauldron cakes at once, for he found it uncommonly difficult to force out what he wanted to say next. 

“And how did you reach this conclusion?” the Headmaster inquired, a bit sharply.

“Truthful Dreams,” Severus ground out. And then, “He intends to sacrifice Harry.”

Albus remained silent for a short time before asking, “And you inferred this merely from reliving that meeting in a truthful dream? What had we been overlooking?”

“One effect of the potion is that it intensifies perceptions of emotions, innuendo, and body language. If you recall from my Pensieve, the Dark Lord had referred only to an unspecified “sacrifice” for Samhain, and we were each to participate in it as a reward. But in my dream, I saw it, Albus, written all over his eyes.” Severus was fairly shouting by the end of his explanation. 

The Headmaster sighed wearily. “I was afraid something like this might happen. Tom’s thirst for blood has been increasing steadily with his power. Yet, when I observed that he had not mentioned Harry at all during your memory of this most recent meeting…”

“He does want Harry! It’s about nothing but Harry! Enemy’s Bane…” Severus interrupted, a rare note of desperation lacing his tone. “I am sure of it. We must remove him to a safer location at once.”

With a sad sort of smile, the Headmaster responded, “Do think, Severus. We have no safer place for Harry at the moment. Grimmauld Place has the strongest warding that I have ever managed to cast in my life, and you yourself have meticulously spelled every corner of it against entrance by Voldemort and his Deatheaters. We would be doing Tom a favor by moving Harry anywhere else.”

“So we are to do nothing,” Severus stated sourly, for it was now quite apparent to him, as well.

“Beyond making certain that Harry remains exactly where he is, no, there is not much we can do. Remember, Tom can make as many plans as he pleases, but none of them can come to pass if he cannot get his hands upon Harry. It is better that you persist in acting none the wiser, Severus, so that Voldemort will not grow suspicious of your loyalties,” Albus advised.

When no further objections came to Severus’ mind, he briefed Albus about the more mundane details of the dream, and then returned to his bed chamber, headache back in full force. Dosing himself with a mild pain reliever, the Potions Master descended once again into unsettled, restless sleep. He dreamed of himself re-warding Grimmauld Place with Voldemort’s wand, and Harry moving back to Privet Drive, except Privet Drive had turned into Malfoy Manor. Lupin tried to get all of them to eat ice-cream, and when he refused, the ice-cream turned into bobotuber puss. And all the while, the Dark Lord’s eyes kept watch, red and gleaming….

Morning found Severus no more rested than he had been the night before. His midnight chat with Albus had left him even more exhausted, though his head was now surprisingly clear. His first thought upon waking was that he should Floo immediately to Grimmauld Place and give the idiot child a stern talking to. Inform him that for once he had better do exactly as he was told if he still valued his own life. But then he remembered the Wolfsbane, which would require another week’s worth of preparation. Having no desire to invest more time in the mangy cur’s potion beyond what was required, he decided that he would begin it and set it out to brew before departing. Making a complex potion also had the added advantage of giving him ample opportunity to gather his thoughts, for it certainly would not do for Harry to see him in an unduly agitated state. 

Donning his heavy black brewer’s robes, Severus secluded himself within the sanctuary of his lab and began work on the potion. Slicing the ginseng and crushing the jasmine with fluid precision, the Potions Master resumed contemplation of his most recent discussion with Harry. Strangely, in the peaceful environs of his potions lab and with his head no longer threatening to burst, Severus noticed that his anger with Harry had more or less dissipated. Well, perhaps the knowledge that the Dark Lord intended to scorch the boy into a crisp helped, he conceded with a scowl. By now Harry’s rudeness looked more like run-of-the-mill teenage hysteria, and Severus even supposed that it couldn’t be a bad thing that Harry had deemed it necessary to interrogate him so thoroughly. The boy still respected him, did he not? And he had been eager to make amends. Pitifully eager, Severus thought with a touch of regret. 

With the snakeroot, arnica, and valerian root now arrayed neatly before him along with the ginseng and jasmine, Severus carefully stirred them into the glistening cauldron of dragon blood. Thrice clockwise, thrice counterclockwise…so went the familiar, calming rhythm of potion-brewing. He watched as vibrant red slowly gave way to shimmering silver. The surface of the potion frothed and tumbled against the cauldron, the magical interactions releasing each herb’s pure, unadulterated essence in a burst of aroma. Snakeroot to counter psychosis, ginseng to revitalize the mind, Severus recited to himself as a way of channeling his concentration. His magical signature would be essential in the next step, and he had to focus his powers… Arnica to reduce inflammation, valerian to stabilize emotions…There was no incantation needed, for the magic was released as naturally as one releases breath. Abruptly, the potion shifted to a deep shade of midnight blue, the transformation instantaneous and consummate, as Severus stirred with sure, practiced strokes. The last swirls of white lather faded into the rich, dark recesses of the liquid, and he exhaled slowly with relief. 

Lifting his eyes from the cauldron, the Potions Master allowed himself to bask briefly in the sensation of completeness. There only remained the preparation of the moonstone, and then he would set the potion out to simmer atop the Ashwinder flame, where it would remain for three nights under the moon…

When a loud blast and a sputtering of ash in his fireplace indicated that the Floo had unexpectedly been opened, Severus’ jaws locked together in annoyance as he peeled off his dragon hide gloves and went to investigate the intrusion. Of course it would be the bloody werewolf, he thought with no small amount of irritation. “Lupin, your potion is not yet ready, and if you persist in harassing me—” Severus started to say in clipped tones , but something in the werewolf’s frantic amber eyes made the words die upon his lips.

Lupin hurriedly stepped off the hearth and half-panting, announced, “Severus, I think you had better come quickly. Harry has gone missing and—”

“Missing,” Severus inserted harshly, sensing all the hairs upon his neck rising. “And how, may I ask, did Potter go missing? Are you suggesting he was snatched from a house Merlin himself can’t even see?” he spat, though he was already opening the Floo powder.

“I’m not sure myself,” Lupin responded shakily as Severus shoved the container towards him, “but there was a pile of rubble outside and the wall of the house next door was completely blown to pieces. It looked like he had gone out by way of the basement, but that makes very little sense. I am certain that Harry knew better than to step out of the house. It must have been …”

Suddenly feeling overwhelmingly ill, Severus barged into the fireplace without bothering to hear out Lupin’s deductions. Strange, the only sound he heard as he spun toward Grimmauld place was something between a desperate scream and a plaintive sob. But don't you wish that you could stop it, save them? No, it could not be. He had warded the entire place. There was no conceivable way that Potter could have left through the basement, even if the boy had taken it upon himself to indulge his Gryffindor taste for reckless theatrics. No, he would not have to save anyone tonight. Not from a fate as terrible as this... Severus resolved not to vomit.

With a sick lurch, he was thrown out onto the other side, and one hand fumbled to brace himself against the coarse mantle, it was all he could do to keep from being slammed down upon all fours. Quickly, he descended the stairs to the basement, then stopped short when he saw a...recess? On the far wall. Striding forward, Severus peered through it and received a view of the neighboring house. “The pile of rubble” that Lupin had spoken of was more like a colossal mountain of debris, and behind it, Severus perceived a wall which bore a hole the size of the Whomping Willow. Hearing Lupin approach behind him, he snapped, “What was Potter doing down here?” 

“I don’t know,” the werewolf admitted. “He’s been coming down here a good deal as of late. He asked about some of Sirius’ things that I had removed to the basement… It does worry me, Severus. He has never had a chance to mourn, not properly…”

Dismissively, Severus returned, “I do believe Black was hardly worth such maudlin displays of sentiment, Lupin.” The truth was that mention of Black had drawn forth a jumbled mass of thoughts that Severus did not wish to dwell on, not here, not now. As far as he was concerned, there had been no love lost between him and the mutt that day at the Ministry when Black was summarily dispatched by Bellatrix, but Potter had emerged from the situation with some truly ludicrous notions of guilt and responsibility. 

Bringing himself through the neatly cut outlet through which he had been observing, Severus dropped lightly into the other house. Sweeping his wand over the ruins, Severus dared to hope that he would detect only Harry’s magical signature. Perhaps the boy had managed to recover his powers after all, and it would be just typical of Lupin to jump to hysterical conclusions. But no, his wand tasted only one brand of magic, one that he had had the privilege of sampling too many times over the years. His blood froze slowly in his veins with dismayed shock. Harry had not been acting like his usual feckless Gryffindor self—he had been attacked by Lucius Malfoy. 

But how? Twenty rounds of Imperius from the Dark Lord himself could not induce Albus to divulge the location of Grimmauld Place. And even if Voldemort had somehow found out, Lucius could not simply blast his way into a thickly warded dwelling. In fact, Grimmauld Place hadn’t even sustained damage. 

Unless…Severus now forced himself to consider the “unless” that had persistently haunted him during the night, for he couldn’t deny that there now existed an outlet where there had been none before. Climbing back inside Grimmauld Place, he intensely regarded the wall that connected with the damaged residence next door. It was hewn from roughly cut stone, its surface scarred from the blasting curses he had used to purge the place, but something was missing… a dresser, a large, lumbering contrivance which he had not troubled himself to remove … The dresser had been pushed aside… oh Merlin, the snake, that stupid snake… it had slithered off a few nights past and Severus hadn’t seen it since… what if Harry had been looking for a snake…oh, sweet Merlin above, a vent, concealed behind the infernal dresser. The realization made the bile rise in his throat. His fault.

“Was it You-Know-Who?” Lupin asked weakly, voice thick and laden with misery. 

From somewhere deep beneath the waters of abject horror that were now drowning him, Severus heard Lupin’s pronouncement. A flash of understanding blazed briefly across his eyes and then became swiftly veiled by an uncanny blankness. The pathetic, sniveling creature… like a coiled spring unloosened, a surge of dark fury erupted in him and blasted away all other thought. 

Before reason had given clearance, Severus’ fists had already snatched up a handful of the werewolf’s collar, knuckles white and quivering from the intensity of their grip. “Lupin. If it weren’t for your utter worthlessness, I would have been here hours ago instead of busying myself with your damned potion.” His snarl gave way to a low, dangerous whisper. “You led them here, to this district, to this very street! Potter could be dead now, by your hand. May you bear in mind the consequences next time you scamper off for refreshments.” 

Lupin had the grace to look horrified as Severus spun away in a cloud of billowing black robe.

Malfoy Manor was not a pretty mansion on a hillside overlooking the verdant valley. There were no views of meandering rivers or rolling orchards from its resplendent Palladian windows. It stood stately and silent, its grandeur unmistakable against the cleanly swept piazza over which it presided in brooding majesty. Even the birds were too awed to sing, for the only sounds to be heard was the crystalline splashes of water in the gilded fountain out front. No, the Malfoys were not about pleasure. They were about power. And as Severus Snape entered the imposing archway and proceeded past the impeccably trimmed shrubbery, he felt the full weight of the Malfoy ascendancy, the pulsating power that emanated from the clan’s dynastic longevity and their overfilled coffers.

Climbing the marble steps that led to the massive bronze doors, Severus had to smile mirthlessly. He had been positively gregarious today. A conference with Nott to discuss the progress his son was making in school. Then a stop at the Lestranges’ to return “sundry articles” that he had conveniently managed to dredge up. And now, this genteel social call at Malfoy Manor. For a feat as brilliant as kidnapping Harry Potter, it was proving remarkably difficult to get anyone to admit to the act, let alone reveal the details of the tour de force. 

Once again, Severus felt his insides churn, as he reflected that it had been hours since Harry had gone missing, and no one had seen hide or hair of the boy. He had made next to no progress in deducing Harry’s location, and as he thought upon the torment that he knew the boy must now be enduring and the horrors that would come if he were not discovered quickly, Severus felt the burning of agitation and immediately smothered it. 

Malfoy. The Dark Lord’s second-in-command and his last remaining hope. 

“Severus,” Lucius’ voice drawled in smooth, refined accents. “To what do I owe the pleasure?” The blonde-haired man reposed languidly in his seat, legs crossed in elegant ease. But Severus knew that the arm draped so unconcernedly over his torso belied a skillfully concealed wand grip. “I sincerely hope that Draco’s conduct is not the cause for your long journey here.” 

Willing himself to match Lucius’ calm, Severus nimbly sidestepped the rigged floor lamps and proceeded to deposit himself onto the couch. His own wand pressed gently against his wrist from the inside of his robe sleeve. “Rest assured that Draco remains the same strapping young man as he ever was, Lucius. Actually, I come to solicit a favor.”

Silver orbs narrowed for the briefest of moments before Lucius graciously replied, “And how may I be of assistance?” 

“It seems that I have depleted my supply of water hemlock, and I am in urgent need of more for the Dark Lord’s Potion.” Severus took care to inject a note of conspirational glee at the mention of Enemy’s Bane. “It is my understanding that you keep an ample store here at the Manor?”

“Do you expect me to believe that the most eminent Potions Master in all Europe is coming to me for basic ingredients that he may obtain at any apothecary?” Lucius returned unctuously. 

“Come now, Lucius. I did not imagine that your knowledge of potions has regressed to such an alarming low. Water hemlock, if you recall, is rather…potent, and is not available at any apothecary. You cannot possibly mean to insinuate that I ought to saunter into Hogsmeade or Diagon Alley and demand it by the pound? Surely, you do not wish for our Lord to have Aurors become privy to his agenda,” Severus countered, with a raised eyebrow. 

“And before? How did you obtain it?” Lucius inquired waspishly.

Severus crossed his arms. So Lucius wished to feign idiocy. “My contact at Knockturn Alley has become indisposed. Do not presume to think that I had not already exhausted all my other options before humbling myself before you. Perhaps you would rather I report to our Lord that you had been unwilling to furnish what he required of you?” Severus suggested.

The sunlight streaming in through a crack in the velvet curtains splashed through Lucius’ glistening, golden hair as the man swiveled his head. “You grow bold, Snape,” he said softly, lips turned up in sinister amusement. “The Dark Lord, you understand, would never take your word before mine. However, in the interest of expediency, I will most certainly purvey you with what you request.” 

Lucius swept his gaze haughtily about the room, as if putting the matter to rest. And then, with a lithe sweep of his hand, a platter of neatly arranged refreshments instantly appeared on the coffee table. “Scones, Severus?” he offered pleasantly.

“Please,” Severus murmured in acceptance, and then, “It occurs to me that I know nothing about what our Lord plans for this upcoming night.”

Idly turning his bejeweled signet ring with one immaculate fingernail, Lucius responded airily, “And what makes you think you are at all entitled to know?”

“Must you be reminded about the properties of Enemy’s Bane, as well, Lucius? Perhaps I should not have been so forthcoming with my potions notes back in our Hogwarts days.” Severus allowed the barb to sink in before proceeding. “I must know certain aspects of the intended victim in order to create the most satisfactory potion for our Lord. It is, after all, Enemy’s Bane and is customized accordingly.” 

“Then why have you not considered simply asking?”

“You know perfectly well that one never asks our Lord for anything. But wouldn’t you agree that my dilemma would be just as easily remedied if I were to obtain the information from another?” Severus paused, and looked pointedly in Lucius’ calculating grey eyes. Challenge thrummed, clear and tangible, between the two wizards. “Preferably one who is well ensconced within the Dark Lord’s good graces,” Severus finished. 

Lucius remained silent, his stony regard betraying nothing. “You did not come here merely to inquire about your Potion ingredient.” The observation did not emerge as a question, but as a cold statement. 

“Do me the service and spare me this show of obtuseness, Malfoy! I would not waste my time anymore than you would, given an assignment to complete for the Dark Lord. You possess water hemlock, yes, but you also happen to be our Lord’s confidant and a knowledgeable, credible source of information, as well! I was rather expecting you to perceive my intentions from the very beginning instead of tossing at me inanities concerning my skills or resourcefulness!” Severus sighed with requisite exasperation. 

One graceful finger swept down Lucius’ chin, as the man now considered him speculatively. “You already know whom the Dark Lord has chosen.” Another sterile declaration.

“I know nothing,” Severus returned simply.

“But you have conjectured.”

Pregnant silence hung in the air, as Severus stared cryptically back.

“And so the answer you seek is not whom, Snape, but where.”

“I am pleased to see that you have finally recovered your wits,” Severus purred. 

Frosty silver eyes told the Potions Master that Lucius’ wits had been anywhere but lost. 

“And why should I feel obliged to reveal anything to you?” 

“Because in the event that my hypotheses prove correct,” Severus leaned forward and locked gazes with the blonde-haired man. “There are certain scores that need to be settled.” 

A vicious smile spread across Lucius’ visage, the Malfoy version of empathy. “All very understandable, Severus.” Without warning, he stood up, and with a flourish of his wand, caused the vase at the Potions Master’s elbow to shatter in an explosion of tinkling shards. 

Reflexively, Severus murmured the incantation for a wandless shield, but beyond that, his only visible reaction was an unflinching glare. 

“You would do well to remember, however, that our Lord has reserved the sacrifice for his own exclusive enjoyment. He would not take well to others defiling it before it is presented to him.” Lucius commenced pacing predatorily about the room. Another careless flick of the wand, and the shattered pieces of porcelain were gone. “I do regret that I am not able to indulge you,” he said in a voice that showed he was not the least bit regretful. Stopping inches away from Severus, Lucius bent and stated in a whisper that bore with it a deadly promise, “You do overstep your place, Snape. I have no choice but to inform our Lord of your audacity.”

An ugly sneer appeared on Severus’ face. “I quite understand your sentiments, Malfoy. How asinine of me to assume you were anything but a loyal servant.” Also drawing himself to his full height, Severus declared serenely, “And now, if you’ll excuse me, I must take leave of you, as I have just perfected the Proavus Elixir, and I am anxious to test its potency. I do believe Draco would be amenable to a comprehensive wizarding analysis of his bloodline? With all that virile Malfoy blood coursing through his veins, your heir would revel in seeing his pure lineage laid out before him.”

A slight pinking of Lucius’ pale, angular cheek and a tautening of his jaw were the only indications that the Malfoy patriarch had acknowledged the unspoken deal that had passed between them. 

Severus’ stomach felt leaden as he apparated from the boundaries of Malfoy Manor, but not because Lucius had threatened to expose his impudence to the Dark Lord.

The fire in the Headmaster’s office was blazing merrily when Severus arrived. For all he knew, Albus could have been hosting a dinner party, the room was so bloody crowded. Upon closer inspection, though, the Potions Master noted that the murmuring he heard was not that of idle chit-chat, but the hushed deliberations of Order Members. Albus, Nymphadora Tonks, Alastor Moody, and Arthur Weasley were all clustered around the Headmaster’s spacious desk, their attention completely absorbed by a glowing piece of parchment. Minerva and the werewolf stood by the entrance, heads bent together in a whispered conversation. Molly Weasley was slumped over in a chair, head propped up on one arm as she dozed over one of Albus’ myriad spell texts. Trays of hors d’oeuvres and fine drink were laid out around the room, the absurdly festive fare supplied by the overenthusiastic House Elves. 

Emerging from the Floo, Severus grimly announced, “I have been unable to ascertain Potter’s location.”

All activity ceased, as the attention of the room became centered upon him. Molly jolted awake, blinking blearily. 

“Lucius Malfoy was unwilling to disclose Mr. Potter’s whereabouts?” Albus queried.

Severus nodded once, his windswept hair cold against his cheek as his head dipped impatiently. “It was fairly obvious that Lucius knew everything about the operation. I am certain he masterminded it all. However, neither he, Nott, nor the Lestranges would confirm that Potter had so much as been taken. I had hoped that Lucius would give in after I flattered him about his privileged position in the Dark Lord’s circle and confessed my own undying hatred for Potter. All that earned me was a vehement reproof for my audacity and an assurance that my disobedience would not go unobserved by the Dark Lord.”

Lupin looked crushed, and Severus suddenly knew an overpowering urge to Obliviate himself till kingdom come, so much did he wish to efface those red-rimmed eyes and that wane, sickly face from his memory. 

Arthur spoke up, offering him a felicitous distraction from the portrait of the werewolf’s grief. “And so now you are in danger from the Dark Lord, as well, Severus?”

Severus’ mouth twisted derisively at the memory. “No, I simply mentioned my formulation of Proavus Elixir and offered to allow Draco to test it out.” He turned to face the fire, allowing its warmth to seep in slowly through the dense lining of his robes in an effort to alleviate the chill that was steadily sinking beneath his skin. “It appears that Lucius still lives in the shadow of certain sordid affairs that took place at the Manor some years ago, when Narcissa was still in the heyday of her blooming beauty. And he would rather flout his Lord’s orders than confront the prospect of a tainted lineage.”

Moody chuckled darkly. “Ah yes, there’d be trouble if those speculations advanced any farther than the rumor stage, I’d say.”

Weak smiles were exchanged among the Order members before Severus asked, “Your efforts have proved fruitless as well, then?” 

“Pretty much,” Tonks replied gloomily. “We’ve run through all the standard locator spells, even threw in a few fancy restricted Auror charms.” She pointed to the luminous parchment. “Search and Rescue is really a shoddy and awful branch of magic. And You-Know-Who sure outdid himself this time.”

Albus looked thoughtful for a moment before he rose from his chair and stated with decision, “We have no other recourse but to attempt to directly infiltrate Tom’s Samhain proceedings. Alastor, Miss Tonks, organize a team of Aurors to continue the search efforts, while the remaining of us will shift our energies to coordinate a rescue in the field.”

After the two Aurors had Flooed out, the Headmaster turned grave eyes to Severus. “Severus, we will be depending on you to whisk Harry to safety during Samhain.” Severus bowed his head and continue to gaze at the fire. His dream. That bloodthirsty, evil gaze. The indescribable horror…And would the boy still trust him, after the words they’d had…five days ago? It seemed so much longer since Harry was pestering him about his Death Eater experiences...ice cream!...the godforsaken vent…

“Severus.” Albus’ soft voice broke through his thoughts, and the Potions Master became aware of the Headmaster’s intense gaze upon him. Reluctantly lifting his eyes, Severus felt them prickle uncomfortably at the edges. “You must not blame yourself. Come, you shall assist us in devising our strategy.” The flowing robes the Headmaster wore billowed gently as he beckoned him over to his desk, where Minerva, the Weasleys, and Lupin now stood. Stiffly, he joined them.

Albus slid out his wand and rolled it around in his fingers meditatively. “A portkey, I think, would be our best choice,” he mused.

“The Dark Lord would never allow a portkey to remain effective within the perimeters of the site,” Severus pointed out with forced mildness.

“As I am well aware. That is why we will spell it to heat when it becomes activated, and you will stand by and wait for your opportunity.”

“Wait…for my opportunity,” Severus bit out. His palms flattened themselves on the Headmaster’s desk as he flung himself forward. “Wait.”

Albus nodded resignedly. “Anti-portkey wards are easier to break than anti-apparation wards,” he offered with obvious sympathy.

Severus closed his eyes briefly before brusquely spinning away from the desk.

“A tracking spell,” Lupin murmured. “On Severus. To give us a focal point,” the werewolf finished with a monumental sigh, as if the words had drained the very life from him.

The Headmaster angled his head. “An excellent suggestion, Remus.” Turning to Severus, he asked, “If you would allow me?”

The Potions Master indicated his assent and felt his personal magic shift to accommodate Albus’ Adifigere.

“That should be sufficient. It is quite a mild spell. Any stronger, and Tom shall be able to detect its presence,” Albus observed.

A hushed silence fell upon the room in the wake of the Headmaster’s remarks. Fear and dread needed no words, Severus thought. He didn’t know how long he would be able to tolerate the damp, heavy anxiety that hung in the air, or the apprehensive stares that he sensed from everyone else. 

Finally, Albus cleared his throat and continued the conversation with what seemed to be great effort. “And there is the matter of where the portkey shall take Severus. I no longer have faith in Grimmauld Place. Voldemort knows of its existence, if not its precise location…”

Severus thought of Devon, of the cabin where he retreated to brew difficult potions without disturbance, to work out the convoluted logistics of spying, even to dabble occasionally in indolence. He pictured the bucolic green meadows, eternally blue skies…and copiously warded boundaries. His first instinct was to buck against the idea of Harry Potter in his sanctuary and haven, but then, surprisingly enough, the suggestion melded against him comfortably. Peace and respite…perfect. “Dismiss the others,” he peremptorily ordered.

“Severus?” Albus questioned. It occurred to the Potions Master that he must have interrupted Albus’ rambling with his own sudden interjection. 

“Just do it,” Severus wearily entreated. Drawing in a bracing breath, he accepted as fact that Harry Potter was becoming much more a part of his life than he had ever intended. Or would become, if Severus managed to somehow extricate him from this meeting alive…

When the others had cleared out, Albus looked expectantly at him.

Levelly, Severus answered, “My cottage, Albus. In Devon. It would serve as a safe house. None of the Death Eaters even know I have a country house.”

“Ah, you mean your charming little shack in the country,” Albus said, looking thoroughly delighted. “That would do just fine, indeed. Devon it is, then.” 

With that, the Headmaster pulled open his drawer and lifted out a box, from which he extracted a single gold ring that seemed to glimmer without aid from the surrounding light. “Lily’s wedding band, one of her remembrances given to me for safe-keeping,” Albus commented quietly. Pointing his wand to it, he murmured, “Portus Devon” followed by, “Vivere calori.”

The ring absorbed the spell and briefly glowed blue before reclaiming its former aurulent luster. Albus turned it a few times in his gnarled fingers before proffering it to him. “Keep it close, Severus.”

He accepted the ring and ran his own fingers over its smooth, polished surface. Just as he was pocketing it, a tremulous knock sounded from the door, and the werewolf reentered.

Lupin’s eyes caught Severus’, and with disdain, the Potions Master studied the guilt swimming in them. “Please give Harry my best, Severus. I will not be able to meet him when he returns, what with the moon approaching…—” he trailed off lamely. 

Descending upon the werewolf in outrage, Severus sneered, “If Mr. Potter returns, Lupin. And even if he does, knowing the Dark Lord as I do, I doubt the boy will be in any fit state to engage in pleasantries.” He felt the vestiges of his self-control snap in half. “A sacrifice, you simpleton, a sacrifice! Lupin, your idiocy is astounding. You knew full well that the Dark Lord was searching high and low for the boy and you just traipse in through the front door like a common Muggle! Why not just usher Malfoy in for tea?” 

Albus sighed heavily and laid a hand on Severus’ shoulder. “All of our very best to both you and Harry. Remember, bide your time. Wait for your chance, Severus. I suspect you will have but one”

The door to Severus’ chambers swung closed. The Potions Master took a few steps forward, then stood rigidly and listened, wand hanging limply by his side. Dim amber light poured from the wall sconces and painted his flickering, black shadow upon the wall, where it stretched all the way from the floor to the ceiling, dark and menacing. The deathly stillness of his quarters was even more pronounced in the depths of the dungeons, where he was enclosed by castle foundations imbued with ancient magic. It was the same, weighty silence that had descended upon Albus’ office, when time had paused in stifling quiescence, and he heard nothing but his own frantic heartbeat and the breaths he forcibly pulled in and out of his lungs. But in the Headmaster’s Office, the silence also bespoke of the Order’s steely determination and the unyielding will of its leader. Here, there was nothing but his own churning, roiling fear and an unfamiliar trepidation that would not be soothed. And now, we wait.

Throwing open his wardrobe, Severus shoved aside the day garb that hung neatly in a row before him. He reached into the darkest corner of the wardrobe and pulled out an unassuming box. Inside, folded neatly, were robe and mask. The emblem of his servitude, the heraldry of his craven allegiance. 

The heavy material unfurled as Severus lifted it out. It was still stiff with blood from the last raid. “Scourgify.” Nothing like fresh, clean Death Eater robes. 

He slid gracefully into them, then pulled the mask over his face. The world, now delimited by the two eye-slits, faded as Severus extinguished every single light in his quarters. Dark. Thick. Everlasting. 

He didn’t know how long he stood there, in the black stillness, arrayed in the attire of death. But when the searing pain came, a blossom of agony in his left arm, Severus’ breath didn’t even hitch. He simply smiled the ironic smile of a man damned and Flooed away into the night.


End file.
